Charcoal Sketches
by Awesome Opossum
Summary: DMHP, one-shot. Draco's a surprising sort of person, with an unspoken penchant for art. So why's a sketch of Harry such a big deal?


Draco Malfoy is a surprising sort of person. Not surprising like, "Huh, he's completely different than I thought he was." Because he's not, really. The Gryffindors think he's a brash, rude bastard. (He is.) And the Slytherins thinks of him as a leader, mature and brave and well-informed. (And, for the most part, he is.) The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs just try to remain diplomatic and stay out of his way. (Draco takes this for cowardice.)

But I digress. No, Draco is the sort of surprising person where there's just a little bit more to him. Not that anyone gets close enough to smell the faint scent of turpentine on his hands. And nobody really notices the smudges of chalk or paint under his chipped fingernails.

His parents never really took it seriously. Refuse to go into the Muggle shop with him whenever he goes to buy supplies. Yes, Draco set foot in a Muggle shop. Regularly, in fact - he prefers their paintbrushes to wizard ones, says they last longer. The elderly clerk is on a first-name basis with him. He figures he has to suffer for his art.

And he's generally discreet about his hobby. The sketchbook he carries around stays zipped up in a hidden pocket of his bookbag. And his supplies are gently tucked away in a zip-up pouch. So he was feeling rather brave when he pulled both out during Potions.

Potter is sitting beside him grating carrots. "What're you doing?" he asks without looking up.

"Taking notes."

"About how I grate carrots?" he asks skeptically.

"Yes." Draco takes out charcoal and looks around the room for inspiration.

"It'd be awfully nice if you, you know, helped."

"Slave labor," Draco scoffs. It's at that moment he glances up at Potter. "Stop right there, don't move," he commands. He brandishes his charcoal triumphantly.

Potter looks a bit uncomfortable. "Why not? Some horrible beast behind me?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Snape's across the room."

Potter grins, and Draco commits it to memory forever.

He works fast, before he can forget it again. "Go back to whatever you were doing," he tells Harry dismissively.

"Um, Malfoy? You're sketching me?"

"I told you, I'm taking notes."

"One doesn't usually do notes in charcoal and colored pencils," Harry points out. But nevertheless he returns to the grater.

His hair is messy, and Draco pulls haphazard strokes across the page. Round glasses slipping down his nose, and lips thin with concentration. Nose, upturned just a little bit. And a few freckles dotting his cheeks and forearms.

Oh, and his scar. Draco had nearly forgotten. Then he squints at the sketch and decides is looks complete enough without it.

He charms the paper so the charcoal doesn't smear, then starts working on the background. But in lighter shades, because Harry's still the focus. The background looks a bit blurry, there but insignificant. Harry's the center of attention because that's how Draco thinks of him.

Oh, _dammit_.

At this realization, Draco tears the sheet out of his sketchbook and crumples it into a ball. He jumps off his stool to go throw it away. Snape raises an eyebrow as he passes, and he smiles innocently at him as he tosses the paper in a wastebasket.

Then he goes and grates carrots.

* * *

"Draco!" Harry's behind him in the hall, walking quickly to catch up. "Wait for a minute."

Draco turns around coolly. "Yes?"

Harry offers him the drawing, smoothed out as best as he could. Thanks to the charm, the charcoal is still pristine. "You dropped this," he says sincerely.

Draco regards with a shadow of a smile. "How careless of me." He keeps walking.

"No, really. Don't you want it? It's good, but you didn't finish it."

"It's terrible."

"No, it's not," Harry insists. "Take it."

Defeated, Draco allows him to push the paper into his hands. "Only for you, Potter."

"Thanks."

* * *

He sits in the Slytherin common room that evening, contemplating that stupid wrinkled black and white sketch. It even _looks_ personal, surely Potter knew once he saw it. He didn't say anything, but he had to have known. Had to.

But…that's not so bad, is it? If he didn't say anything maybe he's okay with it. _After all, who can resist me?_ Draco thinks wryly. Then he throws the sketch in the blazing fire.

But then, on a whim, he takes out his sketchbook again. And he recreates the picture by memory. Right down to the freckles on Potter's arms. He stays up most of the night, coloring and shading it until it matches perfectly with how he remembers it. Then he tucks it away and goes to bed.

* * *

He gives the new completed sketch to Harry the following day in Potions. And what follows will probably disappoint you, dear readers. Harry says, "Wow, that's really amazing. Thanks." and Draco smiles a little bit, but that's it. Nothing more is ever said about the picture. And they certainly didn't spontaneously climb onto a lab table and go at it like bunnies. Draco has _standards_, you know.

But they did get along a little bit better from that day forward. And that was enough for Draco - he can dream, can't he?

And Harry can (and does) too. He keeps the sketch tucked away in his trunk somewhere, because it's important to him. Because that's the day when he realized that Draco was a surprising sort of person. Not completely different - he still lets Harry do all the work in Potions, and he still makes fun of Ron and Hermione, and he still goes out of his way to piss Harry off sometimes - but he's just a little more complex than Harry had thought before.


End file.
